


honey to my mouth, pasture to mine eyes

by alykapedia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Regency Remix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:45:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 16,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: “Little Yuuri Katsuki?” Viktor asks, one eyebrow rising as he remembers the soft-cheeked boy who’d moved with a dancer’s grace, remembers eyes the color of cognac. “How old is he now? Eighteen?”Chris scoffs, nodding at the young man playing the pianoforte. “He’s twenty, Vitya, and he has the entire ton panting after him.”And it isn’t hard to see why, Viktor thinks rather dazedly, for the years have been more than kind to dear, darling Mr. Katsuki.(OR: The Regency AU Remix featuring the May-December relationship that has the Ton wagging their tongues.)





	1. a primer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [if this be error](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281128) by [alykapedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia). 



> hello hi, UH if you've been following me on tumblr (oh god WHY), this would be terribly familiar to you because i'm p sure you must've witnessed the meltdown that uh, led to this. but for everyone else not privy to the absolute trainwreck that is me on tumblr, this all started with my thirst for 39-year-old!viktor and normal-aged!yuuri. and somehow ended with me remixing my own fic?? bc i continue to be an overachiever of epic proportions (why do i do this to myself??) 
> 
> this will just be a random collection of stuff/fills/answers i've amassed and the occasional new stuff because i'm kinda attached to this mess now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so re: older!viktor and normal age yuuri. while i was thinking and conceptualizing about this, i realized i can actually go two ways with this

  1. Wherein Mr. Katsuki has been not-so-subtly chasing after the very distinguished Lord Nikiforov for years now, and Lord Nikiforov has been nobly denying him and his own feelings because, “Oh, my dear Yuuri, you can do so much better than a decrepit, old thing like me,” and all the while, Viktor is shamelessly putting a proprietary hand around Yuuri’s neck and scenting him.  
  
But anyway Viktor is so far in denial that he’s convinced himself that Yuuri is turning down suitors left and right because he’s waiting for Phichit, and when Phichit suddenly goes and marries Seung-gil, Viktor is #shook. Chris, who’s been watching the whole thing unfold for years now, tells Yuuri about it and there’s a whole thing:  
  
”You thought I was waiting for Phichit?!” Yuuri demands, manners left by the door as he storms inside Viktor’s study.  
  
“It was a reasonable assumption–”  
  
“The only thing stopping me from showing up on your bed in dishabille is my mama’s nerves and  _you think I’ve been waiting for Phichit?_ ”  
  
So yeah, eventually they get married and before the month is through, Yuuri’s already knocked up. (”Goodness,” Chris says, “What did you do, chain him to your bed?”)  

  2. ORRR we could go the whole painful pining/slow burn route. In which the reclusive Lord Nikiforov marries penniless nobody Mr. Katsuki out of some sense of duty and Viktor feels absolutely wretched that this beautiful, young omega has to marry someone like him. But also incredibly smug especially when he reduces his beautiful husband to gasps and moans during their wedding night. 




	2. remix 2: a backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [possibleplatypus](https://possibleplatypus.tumblr.com/) replied: Okay after thinking about this option 1 sounds funnier (and it would totally be Yuuri chaining Viktor to the bed) and option 2 sounds like it could get deliciously angsty so I don’t know.. But why would Viktor feel obligated to marry Yuuri?

option 1 is basically a comedy of errors/miscommunication kind of thing and yes, obviously, yuuri is the one doing the chaining here bc he is super thirsty and wants viktor’s babies

the 2nd option came to me out of the blue and i…honestly have no idea for the plot yet?? so here’s a fast rambling plot thing. maybe…idk, viktor used to do business with the katsukis way back when, and now that they’ve gone bankrupt, he wants to help bc toshiya and hiroko helped him when he was still just starting out?? 

and they stubbornly won’t accept his help, doesn’t want him to throw money their way, and maybe hiroko mentions that what really breaks her heart is that they won’t be able to have a proper dowry prepared for yuuri. and viktor, unmarried and without an heir, goes, “I’d marry him even without a dowry” bc at least that’s one worry off their plates, right??

meanwhile, yuuri is. well. he feels obliged to marry this unknown lord because if he doesn’t, he’s yet another burden to his parents. so yuuri says yes and swears to his parents that he would send whatever pin money viktor gives him to them, and resigns himself to a loveless marriage. 

except…well, he falls in love.


	3. remix 2: have some angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My darling,” Viktor says, “You are my family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day, i will post things in chronological order, but today is not that day. this one is a combination of prompts i got from tumblr for the remix option 2
> 
> enter21 said: For the Regency Remix Option 2: What about the first time Yuuri has to host a dinner/ball/work/party thing? He wouldn't settle for anything but excellence, but would be so nervous to host his first big party. And he would want Vik to be proud (...fall in love with him). ; p
> 
> possibleplatypus said: I love your little snippets X3 how does Yuri make it up to Yuuri? Considering that they knew each other and were friends(?) before Yuuri married Viktor

It goes better than Yuuri expected, that is, until Mr. Plisetsky arrives, and Yuuri’s spirits, high from Miss Babicheva’s warm reception and Madam Baranovskaya’s stern approval, plummets to the ground. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Mr. Plisetsky is talking too loudly and just as Yuuri is opening the door to the Lilac Room to bid his lord husband a good night, he says–

“–find that you’ve taken up with an omega whore who’s only interested in your bloody fortune!” 

“Yura!” Mila hisses, face pale when she catches sight of Yuuri.

He’s uncertain as to what expression he wears on his face, but it must be dire enough for Viktor to hurry towards him, hands coming up to cradle his cheeks. Yuuri supposes that it’s a small miracle that he isn’t crying. 

“I was just headed to bed,” he starts, voice surprisingly calm. “And I wanted to bid everyone a good night.”

“Of course,” Viktor nods, eyes bright as they look upon Yuuri as if searching for something. “Good night, my darling.”

 

.

 

The tears finally fall once he makes his way to the bedroom, and it’s how Viktor finds him, with Makka whining at his feet and Vicchan wriggling in his lap, both trying to comfort him. He’s distantly aware of Viktor herding the dogs out of the room, and when Yuuri, finally, finally looks up, he sees Viktor sitting next to him and watching him with soft eyes that makes his heart stutter.

“I thought us friends,” he begins as Viktor reaches out to take his glasses off. “I taught him how to fence. Yur–Mr. Plisetsky knows of my character and it hurts that he should think those things of me.” 

It’s been a long while since he’d seen Mr. Plisetsky, but Yuuri had thought–

“Yuri is an impolite brat,” Viktor bites out, face hardening, and even without his glasses, Yuuri can clearly see the rage simmering in his husband’s countenance. “You need only say the word and I shall have him removed from the estate.”

“There’s no need for that.” Shaking his head, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hands in his, gentle as he uncurls the fists Viktor had made. “He’s your family.” And Yuuri doesn’t want to be the cause of a rift, doesn’t want to give Mr. Plisetsky any more reason to hate him.

“My darling,” Viktor says, “ _You_  are my family.” 

And oh, oh, Yuuri loves this man most ardently. 

“Viktor, I–you must know that–” He begins, fumbling for the right words to say. “While our marriage may have begun because of certain circumstances, I have come to care for you greatly and you must know that I would do absolutely anything for you. I want to give you everything that I have to offer, for you have given me so much.” 

 

.

 

Yuri shows up at the salle the next day in his leathers and a contrite mien, head low, and looking every bit like a kicked puppy. Yuuri has half a mind to send him away; his ears are still ringing from the boy’s sharp words, his heart still hurting, and a part of him is regretting saying no to his lord husband’s offer to send Yuri out of the estate.

“Mr. Katsuki–”

“That’s not my name,” Yuuri interrupts, jaw tight. “Not anymore.”

Yuri’s formerly placid countenance transforms quickly into outrage and he hisses, red-faced and seething, “I am  _not_  going to call you by  _his_  name–”

“Then we have nothing to talk about,” Yuuri says, hiding the hurt with a shrug of his shoulders. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Plisetsky.” 

“Goddamnit–would you just wait–Yuuri!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes i like some super unrequited yuyuu. SUPER UNREQUITED ONLY THO. haha


	4. remix 2: a private audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m to be married.”
> 
> “You’re _what_.” Chris splutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is once again for regency remix 2 because all i've really written for regency remix 1 is...chatfic porn HAHA

“Are you finally going to tell me why it is you’ve decided to come to town after years of avoiding it like the plague?” Chris finally asks the question that has been burning on his tongue the moment Viktor appeared, seemingly out of the aether, right at his doorstep with a carriage and box tickets for the ballet. “Or must I make up a reason on my own, each more scandalous than the last?”

Viktor sighs and graces him with a tired look. “Chris, please.”

“Don’t give me that, Vitya.” Chris scoffs, nudging Viktor’s knee with his own. They’ve known each other far too long to bother with manners at this point. “You haven’t been to town in years, and now here you are inviting us to go see the ballet. I have every reason to be curious.”

Curious because Chris has been urging Viktor to come visit for years, but Viktor has always begged off, content to putter about in his estate doing whatever it is he did, and Chris wants, nay, needs to know just what on earth had prompted his friend to come to town without warning. He sees Mathieu’s warning stare at the edge of his vision, but Chris ignores him—he knows just how far to push when it comes to Viktor after all, and this doesn’t even come close. He’s about to ask again, prod further, when Viktor lets out a breath and turns to him with bright eyes.

“I’m to be married.”

“You’re _what_.” Chris splutters, eyes widening because in all of his imaginings, he did not for one second consider marriage for it was completely antithesis to the image of the reclusive bachelor that Viktor has been curating for years.

“Married,” Viktor repeats patiently. “I’m certain you’re familiar with the concept.”

Ignoring the sardonic little smile on Viktor’s face, Chris says, “You’re to be married and we’re going to see the ballet.” Did Viktor think he wouldn’t throw a fit if they were in the midst of society?

“And my future husband,” Viktor adds, throws the words out nonchalantly as if they were of little consequence. “I felt that it might seem sudden if we were to meet the first time in front of the altar.”

“You haven’t met him?” Mathieu asks, speaking for the first time, and Chris is thankful for he has found himself robbed of words at Viktor’s pronouncement.

“No, I haven’t. It’s a very sudden development.”

“What on earth possessed you to—to marry someone you haven’t met?!” Chris demands, the words coming back to him with a vengeance.

“Good will, I suppose,” Viktor begins, and Chris has to fight the tempting urge to hit him. “Old friends of mine, the Katsukis, have fallen into rather dire straits. They have so far rebuffed my every attempt to ease their financial burdens and so I found myself looking for other ways in which I might help, and in doing so, learned that their son is an unmarried omega whose prospects are not, well, the best, so I’ve decided to offer for him and they’ve accepted.”

“Katsuki,” Chris finds himself repeating rather dully. There’s only one person he can think of with the name. “Surely you can’t mean Yuuri Katsuki?” But even as he says the words, Chris knows that Viktor, the complete and utter bastard, has somehow gone and plucked off the theater’s brightest star for his own. He’s heard the rumors about how this season would be Mr. Katsuki’s last, and it seems that he’s just found out the reason why.

“Yes, that would be him.” Viktor answers easily, with the tone of a man who has yet to realize the gravity of what he’s done. “I’ve been told that he dances the ballet. Is he any good?”

Mathieu makes a choked-off sound and Chris reaches over to pat him consolingly on the arm. “Any good? Lord Nikiforov, he’s—”

“Oh no, darling, don’t tell him,” Chris says, cutting off his husband with a beatific smile. “Let Vitya make an utter fool of himself. We could all use the laugh.”

 

.

 

“Someone is requesting a private audience with you,” Phichit says in greeting, collapsing into the chaise lounge and crushing all the bouquets on it.

Yuuri gives his friend a look over his shoulder, chastising. “Phichit, you know I don’t do private audiences.” It was one of Minako’s rules, one that Yuuri never had any trouble following. He’s heard more than his fair share of stories about his fellow dancers getting involved in scandalous affairs with their patrons, and Yuuri has no plans to be tangled up in one.

“Yes, but this one’s different because it’s a _Lord Nikiforov_ who’s requesting you.” Phichit says, and Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat at the name. He whirls around in his seat to stare wide-eyed at Phichit. “Shall I send for him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Yuuri begins, getting to his feet, hands worrying at the thin cotton of his chemise. He’s suddenly filled with a frantic energy, panic humming underneath his skin. “Why do you suppose he’s here?” Why now, when Yuuri is ill-prepared to see him? Why now, when he was in complete dishabille, sweat cooling on his brow, and hair a complete and utter mess?

Phichit rolls his eyes, holding out a dressing gown for Yuuri to slip into—preserve what little modesty he still has left. “Seeing as he’s currently asking for a private audience with you, I dare say he’s here to see you,” Phichit says. “See if you are as beautiful as the rumors say.”

Yuuri scoffs, cinching the sleeping gown at the waist. “Then he shall be disappointed.” And possibly rescind his offer of marriage, leaving Yuuri with no prospects yet again and his parents fretting about how he will never find a husband.

“Or perhaps he’s here to sample the goods before the wedding night.” Phichit quips, no doubt meaning it as a jape, but now that the idea has been planted inside his head, Yuuri cannot help but think that it must be the truth, for why else would a man like Lord Nikiforov go here of all places? Mayhap he wishes to assess if Yuuri would pass muster, or check if Yuuri’s virtue was still intact, or as Phichit had said, sample Yuuri and see if he was worth marrying.

“He would be within his rights to do so,” Yuuri finds himself saying a bit dazedly, earning himself an indignant splutter from Phichit.

“What—Yuuri! No! That was a bloody jape!” Phichit practically yells, rushing towards Yuuri and shaking him by the shoulders. “Do _not_ let your future husband tumble you on a dingy dressing room floor! You deserve a featherbed for your first time. You keep those thighs closed tight, you hear me? Promise me, Yuuri!”

Yuuri smiles, takes Phichit’s hands in his own, and says, “I promise.”

 

.

 

Up on the stage, Viktor had thought Mr. Katsuki beautiful, ethereal—an untouchable god, but here, in the dimly-lit dressing room, Mr. Katsuki was god made flesh and bone and blood, and no less beautiful.

“Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor greets, dipping his head in a shallow bow as Mr. Katsuki curtsies, the dark fan of his lashes lowering demurely, the tips kissing the apples of his flushed cheeks. “You were magnificent.”

The flush on Mr. Katsuki’s cheeks grow impossibly brighter and Viktor feels his breath catch in his throat when Mr. Katsuki bites down on his lower lip, the flesh of it turning red with abuse. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

“Not kind, no,” Viktor says, shaking his head. “Just honest.”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuuri's a mess okay, but we love him


	5. remix 1/2: ruts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory (lol) rut chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chronology? what chronology?
> 
> anyway. some rut fic to soothe everyone's id haha. remix 1 is a ficlet while remix 2 is just me rambling filth

**Remix 1**

If Yuuri was not already with child after their wedding night and the days that followed afterwards, then he certainly was now. It isn’t difficult to imagine, especially when Viktor was locked inside him still, pumping him full of seed. It’s days into Viktor’s rut–Yuuri’s long lost track of time–and Viktor has had him far too many times to count that whenever Viktor’s knot isn’t plugging him up, he’s dripping with slick and spend, and Yuuri thinks that he won’t be able to close his legs again after this. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Viktor rumbles, carding rough fingers through his hair and Yuuri lets out a please hum, looking up from his languid sprawl atop his lord husband.

He sits up gingerly, gasping when it jostles the knot nestled within him, stretching his cunt fit to bursting. “I was just thinking how you must have given me a babe by now,” Yuuri begins, cupping his hands over his flat belly and smiling coyly down at Viktor. “Can you imagine it, my lord?” He asks, rolling his hips in small, tight circles and grinning when large hands squeeze at his hips. “How my belly would swell with your get, my chest swollen with milk.” 

“ _Blyad_.”

“And then you’ll give me more, won’t you?” Yuuri continues, now growing bolder with his movements, the knot feeling a tad smaller as he tries to bounce up and down on Viktor’s thick length–the walls of his sex rippling at the sensation. “Fill me up again and again.” 

“Anything you want.” 

.

 

**Remix 2**

SO. OKAY. Viktor’s rut happens three weeks into their marriage and it’s a surprise and it starts with them stealing away from the estate and Viktor is just panicked. He’s just come home from business stuff and has Yuuri loaded up in the carriage in his nightclothes. His mind is racing and he gets too far in his head that he misses the way Yuuri is definitely reacting to the pheromones he’s giving out–like goddamn Yuuri is gushing slick. The leather seat beneath him is shiny with it and it’s dripping down his bare legs gOD

and a particularly large bump jostles yuuri hard enough to make him gasp. and that’s when viktor finally turns and looks and oh, oh,  _oh_. Yuuri is glassy-eyed and rubbing his thighs together. He’s looking at Viktor’s tented trousers and licking his lips. Viktor’s knuckles are WHITE and he’s bitten his cheek bloody because he knows, knows that if he took Yuuri right then and there, he’d knot him and he was not going to have Yuuri experience a full-blown rut in a bloody carriage.

But he also can’t just leave Yuuri like that. So Viktor harshly draws the curtains shut and gets on his knees. And the way Yuuri’s thighs fall open is heady, just like the scent coming off of him in waves. “Show me,” he rasps, scent-drunk, and Yuuri acquiesces, lifting up his soaked chemise so that the red hot core of him is exposed to Viktor’s hungry gaze. The folds of his cunt are fat and heavy with need, glistening with slick, and Viktor sucks a filthy kiss into it, his beard rubbing into where Yuuri is so sensitive. That first kiss has Yuuri screaming, cocklet jumping, a spray of wetness hitting Viktor’s scruffy cheek. It’s the first of many orgasms as Viktor just goes to T O W N. Gets his mouth around Yuuri’s cunt, makes a fucking meal out of it, and Viktor thinks that he shall have Yuuri ride his tongue later, sit his lovely darling down on his face and sup and sip on that delicious cunt until the hunger in him has been sated.

 


	6. remix 1: a beginning of sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You may call me Yuuri."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk im supposed to be working on something else but i have very bad impulse control
> 
> anyway. this is the beginning of the thirst: viktor edition. this sorta jumps around, and at the beginning, yuuri is like 16 and viktor is...32. and then the next part is a 4 year jump, so yuuri is 20 and viktor is turning 36 hurrah for math!!

“Nikiforov!” Celestino booms, clapping a hand over Viktor’s shoulder and if he hadn’t been expecting the man’s exuberant welcome, Viktor would have stumbled and made a fool of himself. “I thought I’d have to drag you here kicking and screaming.” 

Viktor shrugs. “I’ve been terribly busy–”

“–dodging marriage offers,” Celestino quips with a raised eyebrow, proving that everyone, no matter their station, was susceptible to the ton’s bustling rumor mill. “But ah, I didn’t ask you here for that.”

“No,” Viktor agrees easily, for if he wanted to have his misadventures involving the marriage mart dissected, he would have gone and subjected himself to Chris’s society. “You asked me here to, what was it, challenge one of your students?” It had been a peculiar request, intriguing enough that Viktor had made time for it during one of his rare visits to town. And now here he was, clad in his old fencing kit with a foil in his hand.

With a smile returning upon his countenance, Celestino motions to one of the older boys standing at the edge of the salle. “Just one student in particular--Mr. Katsuki,” he says, nodding towards the boy now ambling towards them. “I’m quite certain he can give you a run for your money.” 

“High praise.” 

Celestino just smiles in response, clapping the boy who was attired similarly to Viktor on the shoulder, and Viktor can only watch in amusement as the boy stumbles under the force of the fencing master’s enthusiasm. “Mr. Katsuki! I’d like you to have a little match with an old friend of mine.”

Mr. Katsuki bows low, an action that Viktor finds himself mirroring. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

“Celestino here says that you can give me quite a challenge,” Viktor says, taking the mask that Celestino proffers to him, and putting it on.

“I shall endeavor to do so.”

And then the bout starts and it’s nothing like Viktor expects. 

The boy, Mr. Katsuki, is magnificent--incredibly fast, with a dancer’s grace and a surprising ruthlessness that thrills Viktor to his core. He can’t remember the last time a match has sent his heart racing and his blood thrumming wildly in his veins, and he is glad for the mask because it hides the no doubt manic grin stretching his lips.

It also lasts for far longer than Viktor had counted on, and he’s grinning still when he finally sheds his mask. He hears Mr. Katsuki doing the same, and looks up to see what the young man who had challenged him for the first time in a long time looks like, and is struck dumb. Can only stare blankly because Mr. Katsuki is but a babe, barely out of the cradle, with eyes of the most interesting shade of brown, almost like the color of cognac if Viktor was prone to whimsy.

“You must have quite the dancing teacher, Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor says, once he has recovered from the discovery, and his unabashed staring has brought the most delightful flush on the boy’s cheeks. “I’ve fought against the Master Cialdini countless times and he doesn’t move like you do. So I can only assume that your footwork is thanks to someone else.”

“I--” Mr. Katsuki starts, countenance turning suddenly determined and proud. “Yes. The Madame Okukawa tutors me in dance, Lord Nikiforov.” 

Viktor laughs, shaking his head at the sound of his title. “Oh, none of that now,” he says, offering Mr. Katsuki a wide grin. “You’ve given me quite a beating.  _ Viktor’s _ just fine.”

“I can’t possibly--” Mr. Katsuki stutters, shocked no doubt at Viktor’s disregard for social mores. “I didn’t win.”

“Give it a few more years, and you’ll be trouncing me along with this lot. And I must say that I very much look forward to that day, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Yuuri,” Mr. Katsuki says, a defiance in his gaze that has Viktor’s smile growing wider. “You may call me Yuuri.”

 

 

.

 

 

“Little Yuuri Katsuki?” Viktor asks, one eyebrow rising as he remembers the soft-cheeked boy who’d been positively deadly with a foil, remembers eyes the color of cognac. It’s been years since he’s heard of the name, and Viktor tastes regret like noxious bile on his tongue, because he would have liked to have another bout with the boy before his dynamic banned him from doing so. Still, he knows of an opportunity when he sees one. “How old is he now? Eighteen?” 

If so, then he would be a perfect future prospect for Yuri, who’ll never find a mate of his own without Viktor’s help, he’s sure.

Chris scoffs, nodding at the young man playing the pianoforte expertly. “He’s twenty, Vitya, and he has the entire ton panting after him.”

And it isn’t hard to see why, Viktor thinks rather dazedly when they make their way to the far corner of the room where the pianoforte sat, for the years have been more than kind to dear Mr. Katsuki. 

Gone is the soft-cheeked boy, and in his place stands a handsome young man who has Viktor quickly forgetting about cousin Yuri and abandoning any attempts at matchmaking. For he is beset with a very sudden want to have his mark blooming on that graceful neck, replacing the choker of sapphires glittering on Mr. Katsuki’s throat.

“Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor greets with a low bow, before Chris can say anything. He feels very much untethered. Like a green boy seeing a beautiful omega for the first time, and he knows that he would regret his actions later, but for now Viktor is caught in Mr. Katsuki’s gaze, is helpless to the smile that spreads upon those rouged lips. 

“Oh, none of that now,” Mr. Katsuki says, rising from his seat and holding out a gloved hand. “You may call me Yuuri.”

 

 

.

 

 

Viktor would very much like to blame it on the port he’d imbibed earlier, but he knows that while intoxication had loosened his tongue, it was not the only reason why he’d gone and called dear, beautiful Mr. Katsuki  _ my darling _ . If he was to be honest, and he does so loath to be, Viktor would admit that he has been calling Mr. Katsuki  _ his darling _ ever since that fateful night but a few months ago at Chris’ ballroom, where he’d found that the soft-cheeked boy who’d impressed him with a foil had grown up to be a dangerously beautiful young man. 

A dangerously beautiful young man who has been eyeing him with heat in his eyes the entire night and was now flooding the entire carriage with his scent. He smells absolutely divine, promisingly fertile, and somehow, Viktor knows that if he were to slip a hand beneath the skirt of Mr. Katsuki’s– _ Yuuri’s _ –thin, summer frock, he would find his darling boy’s sweet cunt hot and dripping, ready for a prick and a knot to clench around– 

“We’ve arrived, my Lord.” Altin’s voice calls from outside the carriage, drawing Viktor’s thoughts away from the very dangerous line of thought he’d been on.  

Tearing his gaze away from the tempting curve of Yuuri’s bottom lip is almost an impossible task, but Viktor somehow manages it as he moves to push the carriage door open. He has a hand on the door’s handle when Yuuri’s bare hand– _ and oh, when did he take his gloves off _ –lands on his, two clever fingers slipping down to his wrist to glance against the scent gland there.

“You will give me a call tomorrow, won’t you my lord?” Yuuri asks with the slightest tilt of his head, baring the long line of his neck and the unmarred mating gland at its base. “I still owe you a bout.”

Viktor swallows down the growl building up in his chest, and says, “If it pleases you, my darling.”

Yuuri smiles, syrupy slow as he presses the pad of his finger against the gland on Viktor’s wrist, and  _ bloody hell, this boy would be the death of him. _

“It does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway there's a porny followup to this which will probs get written when my uterus isn't trying to kill me goodbye im going to curl up in a ball of pain


	7. remix 1: a prelude in f minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway it is apparently lunardistance's bday so happy birthday 
> 
> no porn yet bc it's awkward af to write porn in class

Yuuri burns.

  
Like a star is bursting forth from within him, blistering at his skin. As if a furnace is raging brightly in his belly, consuming him, burning him from the inside out, until here is nothing left. And still the blaze rages on, persisting, continuing endlessly, the flames ebbing and flowing, filling up every crevice inside him, even crevices he knew not existed within him.

  
The bedclothes have long been discarded to the floor, pillows filled with goose down scattered about thoughtlessly amongst them as he tosses and turns, and he’s about to reach for the hem of his nightshirt that he might rip it away, when a knock sounds from his door, followed by Mari’s concerned tones.

  
“Yuuri? Are you all right? Aunt Minako is here for your lessons.”

  
A thin, reedy cry is all that he can manage, collapsed as he is in an ungainly heap on the center of his bed. He fears that it might not be enough, but nary a breath passes before Mari is throwing the doors to his room open. And immediately, Yuuri retches down the side of his bed, insides heaving and writhing.

  
With the doors thrown wide open, he’s assaulted by a cacophony of scents. Wrong ones that makes his stomach roil painfully.

  
Even Mari’s familiar scent--cardamom and tobacco--has bile rising up in his throat once again.

  
“ _Mari_ ,” he sobs, tears flooding his eyes. “Mari, it hurts.”

  
A cool hand lands on his cheek and Yuuri flinches away, because it’s not-- _it’s not what he wants and needs--and oh, God, how Yuuri needs--_

  
“ _Bloody hell._ Kitty, send for Mama and Aunt Minako. Quickly!”

  
.

  
The moment Yuuri opens the parcel from Master Cialdini that was supposed to contain his old fencing kit, he feels a fresh gush of slick run down the insides of his thighs.

  
His sex throbs, insistent, and it feels foreign still that Yuuri collapses to the floor, awash with a noxious combination of arousal and mortification. The parcel lands in a heap beside him, releasing another cloud of scent that has Yuuri biting down on a moan.

  
Rubbing his thighs together, Yuuri digs through the parcel, breathes in the scent of pine and warm spice, drowns in it, as he pulls out pieces of clothing that do not belong to him. There’s a thought forming, coalescing into existence in his mind; a thought that has been niggling at the back of his consciousness ever since Minako asked what he had been doing before his Presentation Heat struck, if he’d met anyone new--

  
When he picks up the vest and sees the _Nikiforov_ embroidered in dark blue thread on the chest, Yuuri lets out a decidedly hysterical giggle and thinks, _oh_.

  
.

  
“Mr. Katsuki, you look as lovely and resplendent as ever.”

  
Yuuri could not have kept the smile off his lips even if he’d wanted to, so he does not try, allows the corners of his lips to curl up as Lord Giacometti takes his hand and lays a kiss upon it.

  
“There's no need for flattery, my lord,” he demurs, “Ask what you will of me.”

  
The Viscount laughs, and behind him, Yuuri can see the Capt. Giacometti shaking his head ruefully at his husband. “I shall beg your indulgence and ask that you keep a few places in your dance card open,” he says, and before Yuuri can tell him that he shan’t be dancing tonight, continues, “An old friend of mine will be arriving in town and I wish for you to meet him.”

  
“And dance with him,” Yuuri adds, unimpressed, because if he’d wanted to be pushed to dance with anyone, he’d have stayed with Minako.

  
Smile turning devious, Lord Giacometti leans closer than what propriety dictates and whispers, “I heard from Master Cialdini that you’re already quite familiar with him and that you’ve successfully bested him with a foil. Think of this as a different kind of dance.”

  
“Lord Nikiforov?” Yuuri asks, hushed, afraid that if he says the name any louder, it would cease to exist and he shall have to wait longer to meet the man again.

  
Lord Giacometti just winks and says, “Now you can’t say that I’ve never done anything for you, little sparrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris Giacometti is the fairy godfather we need


	8. remix 1: sink into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proper thing to do is to burn the handkerchief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to pickle and lunardistance for being terrible enablers 
> 
> i wanted to write more but uuuuugh i have to go and study again so. yeah. 
> 
> probs full of mistakes. hmu for any glaring ones

By the time he makes it to the safety of his bedroom, away from Mari’s prying eyes and his Mama’s well-meaning queries, Yuuri is completely drunk off of Lord Nikiforov’s scent--winter spice and musk--that’s wafting from the greatcoat wrapped around his shoulders. He’s drunk too on his own boldness, and he can’t help the shiver that travels down his spine when he recalls the way Lord Nikiforov had looked at him back in the carriage, as if he’d wanted nothing more than to take Yuuri right then and there. 

And Heaven knows Yuuri would have let him.

He stumbles out of his slippers and throws the greatcoat towards the bed, before quickly doing away with his dress and chemise until he’s completely naked but for his soaked stockings. Slick leaks out of his swollen sex, dripping down his already glistening thighs as he collapses into his bed. Yuuri makes certain to land on the coat so that he can rub his wrists all over the silk lining, saturating it with his scent. 

Once he’s satisfied, he slips a hand inside one of the pockets and pulls out the pair of leather gloves that Lord Nikiforov always wears. They’re old and worn, a well-loved pair, and Yuuri has scarcely seen Lord Nikiforov without them.

Putting them on feels almost obscene, the whisper of leather loud against the quiet of the room, and Yuuri feels a fresh gush of slick dribble out of him, seeping into the fabric of the coat.

The leather, when he finally, finally moves to touch himself, is butter-soft against his bare skin, and with his eyes shut tight, Yuuri can imagine that it is Lord Nikiforov--no, no,  _ Viktor _ \--Viktor who is running a hand along his thigh, down his chest and over the peaked nubs of his nipples. 

Would Viktor tease him, he wonders? String him along with fleeting touches until Yuuri is begging--and oh, Yuuri will gladly beg. Or would he be rough? Go straight for the red hot core throbbing between Yuuri’s thighs and--

“ _ Oh _ !” 

 

.

 

The proper and gentlemanly thing to do is burn the handkerchief.

Viktor ought to throw it into the fireplace and be done with it.

But Viktor has never been  _ proper or a gentleman _ in the first place, which is why he has Yuuri’s handkerchief pressed to his nose, drinking in his darling’s sweet scent as he strokes his cock. The slick slide of flesh against flesh fills the thick air inside his bedroom, and Viktor feels very much like a green boy discovering his prick for the first time. 

He thinks back on the carriage ride and groans, hips jumping when he remembers how Yuuri had looked, how he’d smelled so fertile and ready. And Viktor just knows that had he asked, if he’d lost his mind earlier and told Yuuri to, then Yuuri would have--would have hiked his skirts up and let Viktor sink into his tight, hot cunt. 

Viktor would have had him mated and bred in the span of a single carriage ride.

When he feels the familiar swelling at the base of his cock, Viktor tears away the handkerchief from his face and quickly loops it around his growing knot. It’s quick work to tie the smooth satin around himself, and even quicker still to push himself over the edge with a few more pumps until he’s yelling his release into the silence of his bedroom. 

“ _ Blyad _ .”

 

.

 

Yuuri’s just finished wrapping the bow when Kenjirou potters inside with tea and a small assortment of pastries. 

“Kenjirou, have this delivered to Lord Nikiforov immediately,” he begins, nodding at the large box at the foot of his bed. “Make sure that it’s Lord Nikiforov who receives it. No one else.” 

“If I may, Mr. Katsuki, what exactly is it?” Kenjirou asks, taking the box gingerly.

Yuuri smiles beatifically and sets about preparing his tea. 

“His lordship lent me his coat last night. I’m returning it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuuri pls control ur thirst


	9. remix 1: deluge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a bloody fool, Nikiforov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i should sleep
> 
> kinda a quick thing bc i just really wanted to write something to get me out of my slump?? i'm nudging the plot for remix 1 along bc i just...i just wanna write the raunchy regency fucking
> 
> probably terrible idk

The first drop of rain falls just as their lips meet, as if the heavens themselves know what it means—a dam breaking, the last of Viktor’s infuriating control being torn to shreds.

Yuuri’s thought of this countless times, alone in his bed at night, in the middle of a crowded ballroom as Viktor leads him in a waltz, every single time Viktor walks him up the stone steps leading to his door. He’s thought of this: the slick slide of lips, the shocking rasp of stubble against his cheek, Viktor’s scent and the taste of him thick on his tongue.

And the kiss they share now is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

It starts off innocently, a whisper of a touch, a brush of their lips, before the hunger sets in, and Yuuri feels as if he’s being devoured alive. His moan is lost, swallowed up by the rumbling of thunder, as Viktor crowds him against the wall, shielding him from the rain. It’s sweet, but a useless endeavor when Yuuri’s already soaked to the bone, the thin cotton of his dress clinging to him, just as he clings to Viktor, arms wrapped around Viktor’s neck as Viktor lifts him up, grip tight around his thighs.

“Please,” Yuuri gasps, head falling back against the wall, as he wraps his thighs around Viktor’s waist, pulling him further in. He’s rewarded with Viktor’s lips on his neck for his efforts, tantalizingly close to where his mating gland throbs painfully, eager for a bite. “Viktor, please.”

Letting out a groan that ignites his blood, Viktor hefts him up higher, hands sliding up from Yuuri’s trembling thighs to slip underneath his dress, and it’s all Yuuri can do not to buck wildly, because oh, oh, _oh_ —

“Oh, god!”

At the sound of Phichit’s voice, they both startle, heads whipping around to see Phichit and Mr. Lee, staring at them with wide eyes, and Yuuri has never before been angrier at anyone than he is at his fiercest and most loyal companion at this very moment. Because Viktor’s hold on him has loosened, until he’s settling Yuuri down on his feet with a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m so, so sor—”

“There’s no need for apologies, Mr. Chulanont.” Viktor deftly interrupts, and there’s something in his tone that chases away the warmth still tingling in Yuuri’s veins, leaving him cold.

 

.

 

When Chris arrives at Claret House upon Altin’s behest, he finds it in complete and utter chaos.

There are servants running about in a panic, trunks being carted away, and if Chris didn’t know any better, he’d think that the apocalypse is upon them with how everyone was carrying on. But Chris does know better, and he does not have to wait for long before the cause of this disaster makes his way downstairs, looking as if the very hounds of hell were coming for his blood.

If Viktor is in any way surprised at his presence, he doesn’t show it, and instead hands over a valise to a nearby footman.

“Chris,” he greets, shrugging on a coat and willfully ignoring the exasperated look Chris was levelling him. Just as Chris is opening his mouth to tell Viktor just exactly what it is he thinks about the whole mess, Viktor continues, “Do save the scolding for later, I have a ship to get to. Perhaps have it in writing and have it addressed to my chateau.”

Chris splutters, incredulous as he follows Viktor outside, down to the carriage already waiting in front. “You’re actually going to leave.”

“I have business in France,” Viktor replies curtly. “You know how it is.”

“No, because I don’t know how it is to run away from love when it’s being offered so freely to me!”

They’re making a terrible scene, and Chris knows that come morning, the entire ton would know what happened and can recite his little speech word for word. Any other time, he’d be concerned, but Chris is tired of all the stupidity, and he knows that if Viktor leaves, then Yuuri would be absolutely devastated.

“It is precisely because of love that I am leaving,” Viktor hisses, whirling around with fury and a bone-deep hurt in his eyes. “He deserves so much better than a decrepit old alpha like me, Chris.”

“You’re a bloody fool, Nikiforov.”

Mouth twisting into a grimace, Viktor gives him a parting look over his shoulder as he climbs up the carriage, and says, “I’m well aware.”

 

.

 

The missive arrives whilst they are breaking their fast out in the gardens, and Mari thinks nothing of it at first, even when the messenger announces that it’s from Claret House. They’re well aware of Yuuri’s little dalliances with Lord Nikiforov after all, and they’re honestly just waiting for the man to finally wise up and ask for Yuuri’s hand in marriage, or for Yuuri to lose all sense of propriety and _ask for Lord Nikiforov’s hand in marriage_ , whichever happens first.

Mari is personally betting on the latter.

She’s expecting to bear witness to the usual tittering; Yuuri flushing with pleasure at the no doubt scandalous contents of the letter, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Mari is treated to the sight of her little brother holding back tears, lower lip wobbling as his shaking hands drop the letter on the table.

“Yuuri?” Mari’s already on her feet before she knows it, stalking towards Yuuri and getting down on her haunches as he begins to cry. She’s no stranger to her brother’s tears, has been the cause of them back when they were children, but they have her panicking still, running gentle hands on Yuuri’s arms. “Do I need to go and stab him in the face?”

“You won’t be able to,” Yuuri murmurs, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

Mari blinks, looking up at Yuuri in bemusement. “What do you mean?”

“He’s left, Mari, he’s gone.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chris: u a dumb bithc


	10. remix 2: slowly, sweetly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri falls in increments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wwwww im still working on the continuation for remix 1, but for now, have a thing from remix 2 that i haven't posted here yet
> 
> /dodges molotov cocktails

Yuuri falls in increments, in moments, in small smiles, and a hand to the small of his back, but it all starts in Yuuri’s cramped dressing room at the Theater Royale, at their very first meeting, with the scent of roses tickling his nose.

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri admits, his eyes drawn to his bare hands which were still clasped in Lord Nikiforov’s gloved ones. “You have nothing to gain with this match.” Yuuri had no connections, no fortune, and certainly not a name that would make him a suitable match for anyone, and he cannot for the life of him, imagine what someone like him can offer to a man like Viktor Nikiforov. 

“Ah,” Lord Nikiforov breathes out, one hand coming up to tilt Yuuri’s chin up. “But I would have a husband, which I think is the most important thing to gain in a marriage,” he says, sincere, and Yuuri’s heart does a little jig inside his chest.

Lord Nikiforov’s words may be a jape, or perhaps a cruel trick, but Yuuri finds himself coloring despite himself as he says, “then I shall endeavor to be a most wonderful husband.” 

 

.

 

And yet another instance–

–begins with an accident that Yuuri will forever blame himself for, because he ought to be keeping a close watch on Vicchan and Makka, but he’d been too distracted and the next thing he knows, Vicchan is yipping and falling into the lake–

–and Viktor, hearing the commotion, runs away in the middle of a business deal to jump into the freezing waters to save Yuuri’s beloved dog–

“Darling, please.” He hears Viktor say, plead, pushing a wet and shivering Vicchan into his arms and it’s all Yuuri can do to stay afloat in the sea of his thoughts. “Breathe with me, Yuuri.” Viktor says and Yuuri tries to, shaking through a deep breath. “That’s good, darling, now another.”

 

.

 

And finally, it’s–

–Viktor laughingly and clumsily stumbling into a waltz, happy to let Yuuri lead, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he laughs a laugh that warms Yuuri to the tips of his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep doing something awful to vicchan, im so sorry


	11. remix 2: world building thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter21 said: Regency Remix 2 question: What's Yuri's interactions with Vik's servants like? And the people who live on his land? Do they all adore thier new Mr. Nikifirov? Is Vik still a merchant in this one?
> 
> and
> 
> first time after their wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some not!fic bc ughhh i hate how unproductive i've been lately

Okay. So you have to understand that for a good chunk of time, Viktor has been pretty much living like a hermit. The ton has lost its charm for him and he’s p much just living out his days in his country estate, and so when he actually goes and plucks off a young husband from London, everyone’s reaction is pretty much a mix of “CONGRATS ON THE SEX!!” and “OH GOD I HOPE THE YOUNG THING DIDN’T MARRY HIM JUST FOR HIS MONEY” 

And when they finally meet Yuuri, who honestly wears the look of wide-eyed ingenue too well, the prevailing reaction persists, but they’re also now very charmed by their new Mr. Nikiforov. And well, when they see the way Yuuri looks at Viktor–the second reaction goes down the drain pretty quickly.

.

It takes another week before his lord husband joins him in his bed again, and in that span of time, Yuuri has worked himself up into a deep worry that his performance in bed has been woefully inadequate, and that Viktor finds him severely lacking. (This, of course, cannot be farther from the truth, for Viktor spends the rest of the week in a constant state of arousal. Yuuri makes him feel like a green boy and not a man of thirty-nine, and he feels that he won’t be able to control himself should he join Yuuri’s bed again.) 

And so when Viktor presses a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s temple after dinner and whispers, asks, “May I join your bed tonight, my darling?” Yuuri decides that he’ll do everything in his power to have Viktor returning nightly–which, of course means that Viktor finds out how great of a rider Yuuri is. (The touch on his chest is rife with uncertainty, but the force behind it isn’t, and Viktor can only but gape as Yuuri straddles him, sinking down on his straining and leaking prick with a punched-out breath.) 

((It takes a while??? Before Yuuri gets pregnant despite their UH, nightly and later, morning and afternoon rendezvous, that when the doctor finally confirms that Yuuri’s sudden sickness is brought about by his being with child, he’s incandescent with joy.)) 


	12. remix 1/2: birthday sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: What would distinguished!regency Viktor give his darling Yuuri for his birthday?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for consensual somnophilia bc that shit be my jam
> 
> can work for either remix tbh

he wakes to lush kisses and the familiar swell of viktor’s cock stretching his cunt. 

it’s not the first time he wakes to his lord husband stealing kisses from his lips, but it is the first time that viktor has acknowledged his long-standing invitation that he make use of yuuri whenever he wanted–a request borne of long nights and lonely mornings during the long months when viktor had to take care of business, and it rouses him as easily as a splash of freezing water.

“ _ah!_ ”

eyelashes fluttering, yuuri blearily opens his eyes to see viktor moving above him, hips driving smoothly into him. “good morning, lovely,” viktor rumbles, and yuuri can only manage a hitched moan in response, too overwhelmed with sensation to manage anything more. “it’s the day of your birth and i figured i’d–ah–give you something you’ve been asking for quite a while now.”

(and there’s like idk, a ridiculous amount of silks and jewels that viktor will lovingly put on yuuri. perhaps a new stallion that yuuri will have to train all by himself while viktor leers at the background. and new books, of course, and a promise to visit town and go down to portsmouth for dinner with the katsukis, but for now, there’s  _this_ and breakfast in bed that viktor will handfeed him whilst buried still inside yuuri’s warmth.)  


	13. remix 1: tu crois l'éviter, il te tient !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know fully well that we can’t keep him to ourselves forever,” he tells Makka, although he may as well be saying it to himself because the words cut him to the very quick. “Yuuri ought to find a more suitable match, someone younger—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the return of viktor: a dumb bithc
> 
> chapter title is from habanera bc i was listening to it while i was writing this and yeah
> 
> this is probably terrible but it's late and i'm going to sleep

_My Good Sir,_

_Do not mistake this letter with my forgiveness for my rage burns still, but I am beholden to you as your oldest friend. However, do note that I am only taking my pen to paper at my dear husband’s behest. Contrary to what you have erroneously led yourself to believe, your sudden departure from town has been felt by the entire ton, but none more than our mutual friend. As you have decided to spurn him, I have decided that you do not deserve to hear any news regarding him and the life he leads now, so I shall bore you instead with gossip and business deals._

_[...]_

_Another young man who has decided to undertake the sacrament of holy matrimony is Mr. Chulanont. He was wed just yesterday and the young couple seemed very much eager to consummate their union; I had not seen two individuals so eager to get to the marriage bed ever since my own wedding._

_[...]_

_If you do finally decide to show your face again, do keep in mind that there are several individuals who would like nothing more than to carve you open with a rusted spoon, and I am very much part of that list of individuals. I still know not what you aim to discover there in France—perhaps a cure for your foolishness—but whatever it is, I hope you find it soon so that you may return and allow me to run you through with my saber._

 

_I_ _remain as your very wise and most understanding friend,_

_Christophe Giacometti_

 

.

 

The French Riviera glitters and gleams, a sparkling diamond under the cool light of the moon. It is, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful night—the skies are clear, and not a single storm cloud has deigned to deprive the world of beauty of the moon and the stars. In the distance, Viktor can hear music and the sound of laughter, coloring the air, floating into his dark bedroom and shattering the silence inside.

Like most nights, there’s a raucous party downstairs overflowing with food, drink, and everything else to sate most everyone’s appetites, but unlike most nights, Viktor has decided to beg off of attending, escaping instead to his private apartments where he finds Makka out in the balcony, her pitiful whining clashing with the distant sound of a quadrille being played. The thick slab of steak he’d left for her remains untouched, and Viktor shrugs out of his coat and slumps down on the armchair at the balcony.

“Oh, Makka.”

Makka steadfastly ignores him in favor of letting out an almost offended whuff.

Viktor suddenly feels tired, feels all his years weighing down heavily on his shoulders. He has felt this way ever since he’d left London like the cowards he is. Running a hand through his hair, Viktor reaches for the bottle of cognac and uncaps it, not even bothering with a glass as he takes a healthy swig from it.

Mayhap the alcohol can burn off the longing aching within the emptiness of his chest where his heart used to sit.

“You know fully well that we can’t keep him to ourselves forever,” he tells Makka, although he may as well be saying it to himself because the words cut him to the very quick. “Yuuri ought to find a more suitable match, someone younger—”

He remembers Chris’s letter and imagines Yuuri with some faceless man for a husband, and feels his stomach turn, jealousy acrid on his tongue. They’ll never satisfy Yuuri, Viktor thinks cruelly, taking another swig of the cognac, they won’t be able to please him like Viktor can, won’t be able to bring a smile, a pleased flush to his face effortlessly like Viktor.

And then Viktor is thinking of returning to London so that he might steal Yuuri away from some faceless man’s arms, pull his darling Yuuri into a darkened alcove and press in, trail his hands underneath Yuuri’s skirts so that Viktor may please him in ways some younger, inexperienced alpha never could—

“ _Fuck.”_

The bottle shatters, startling Makka and making her whine even louder, her black eyes trained on Viktor’s bleeding hand.

 

.

 

With the wind nipping at his cheeks and whipping through his hair, Yuuri can almost pretend that the he is here in Brighton for a well-deserved vacation, and not because of the pitying looks everyone has taken to give him every single time he deigns to leave his room. His heart aches still, along with his entire body after the devastating heat he’d just experienced. It’s almost akin to the first heat he’d had; Yuuri almost feels carved open, his insides raw and aching, except the whole ordeal is made worse by the fact that this time around, he knows what his body needs unlike his first heat, and it has been cruelly taken away from him when Viktor left.

Swallowing down the sob that threatens to spill out of his lips, Yuuri urges his mare back to the stone path leading back to the house. He means only to give his steed a brief reprieve from the uneven slopes of the grounds surrounding the estate, but he espies Kenjirou’s familiar shock of bright hair near the entrance to the stables, prompting Yuuri to change his course and head towards him instead of taking off for the woods.

Yuuri pulls at _Katsudon_ ’s reins, stopping a short distance away from Kenjirou, and as soon as he does, a young stable hand appears to lead his horse towards the water troughs. “What news, Kenjirou?” Yuuri calls out, trekking towards his young maid. His thighs protest, the effects of riding around the estate for the entirety of the morning and most of the afternoon finally making their presence known.

It’s possibly a letter, Yuuri thinks as he draws closer, a letter from his Mama asking how he is, or perhaps a missive from Mari demanding that he come back to town with sharp and scathing comments about his prolonged exodus to Brighton. Or, he considers, taking in Kenjirou’s harried countenance, perhaps Phichit has gotten tired of his disappearance and means to drag him back to London. Yuuri knows from countless excited letters that Phichit is to be a father soon, and he has not the heart to begrudge his friend of his happiness, and he thinks that witnessing the birth of Phichit and Seung-gil’s first child would be worth the entire ton’s beady eyes on him.

“Lord Giacometti is here to see you, sir,” is what Kenjirou says instead, halting him in his steps, for while the Viscount is not the last person he expects to darken his doorstep as that honor belongs to the man who had stolen Yuuri’s heart and taken it to France, he has not the slightest inkling as to why the older man would be here. “He’s waiting for you at the salle.”

“The salle?” Yuuri echoes, confusion settling upon him. He turns questioning eyes to Kenjirou, but Kenjirou only shrugs and confirms that the Viscount has requested that Yuuri meet him in the salle.

And just as Kenjirou had said, Yuuri finds Lord Giacometti perusing the humble collection of foils and sabers that decorate the far wall of the salle. Yuuri hasn’t bothered changing, and so he strides inside the salle still in his riding leathers, sweat glistening upon his brow. If it had been anyone else, Yuuri might have bothered with the pretense of propriety, but Lord Giacometti has known him for years, and bats not an eyelash at his disheveled appearance.

“You look terrible, my dear,” Lord Giacometti greets, making Yuuri let out a short huff of laughter, the first he’s made after what feels like ages.

Performing a small bow, Yuuri makes his way towards Lord Giacometti, his strides noiseless on the hardwood floor. “I’m afraid flattery will get you nowhere, my lord,” Yuuri says with a bemused lilt to his mouth, before continuing, “Forgive my impertinence, but what business can you possibly have with me that you would make the trip to Brighton?”

It’s a long ride from London to Brighton, and Yuuri can’t think of anything pressing that would necessitate the Viscount to leave his home and come knocking.

“Am I not allowed to ask after a friend’s health and wellbeing?” Lord Giacometti asks, a soft smile alighting on his face, one that Yuuri finds himself helplessly returning. “You left town in quite a hurry after Mr. Chulanont and Mr. Lee’s wedding that I had not the chance to ask how you’re faring.”

“Terribly.” After Viktor had left, Yuuri had stayed in town only for Phichit’s wedding before escaping to his family’s Brighton estate to lick his wounds and wallow in his misery. He’d done nothing but cry the first week, until his eyes were red and it felt as if he could cry no more, and then he’d drifted, existing but not living. “I’m afraid my heart will never be whole again,” he confesses, voice breaking as he feels his heart, or whatever remains of it, squeeze painfully inside his chest. “I spend every night wondering—wondering what I’d done wrong. Wondering what I’m lacking for—for Viktor—for him to leave—”

“He thinks himself too old for you and thinks you deserve much better than him.” Lord Giacometti says, deftly interrupting his speech that it takes Yuuri a very long while to parse the meaning of his words.

When he does, Yuuri can only blink and stare blankly up at Lord Giacometti.

“What?”

“If I remember correctly, his exact words were that you deserve more than a decrepit old alpha like him.”

“ _What?_ ” Yuuri repeats, blinking away the tears clinging to his lashes as his mind races, incredulity bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. There’s rage there too, mixed in with the confusion and heartbreak he still feels, and Yuuri feels the loneliness he has felt for so long be replaced with this noxious miasma of emotions he has been harboring for months because of _some foolish alpha who thinks he knows better than Yuuri’s heart and what it wants_ —

Yuuri no longer knows what kind of expression he wears, mind busy thinking up all the preparations he shall need to go back to London because _he absolutely refuses to wallow one second more for a bloody idiot_ , but it has a beatific smile forming on Lord Giacometti’s face as he says, “Oh, and he’s also toiling under the impression that you’ve married Mr. Chulanont.”

_“What?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next part for remix 1 is the reunion where viktor finally gets his head out of his ass and grovels at yuuri's feet


	14. remix 2: introductions and beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Miss Katsuki, how old is your brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drabble 1 of 4 written for possibleplatypus
> 
> chronology? don't know her jasdhkah this is set before the private audience chapter  and this is basically,,,more UH backstory for remix 2

Yutopia used to be but one of the many inns that litter Portsmouth, but now it is the only one that remains, standing stolidly and weathering through the spot of trouble that had its competitors closing down. However, even with this distinction, it is evident that hard times had befallen the inn and its proprietors. And as Viktor follows Hiroko down the warren of rooms and towards the brightly-lit kitchen, he cannot help but liken the experience of walking along its halls to seeing an old friend waste away.

Yutopia has seen him through the early days of his seafaring, when he had not even the support of his family who thought his interest in trade barbaric at best, and it hurts now to see that unlike him, it had not had luck on its side. It’s why Viktor is here, back after so many years, to offer his help so that he can see Yutopia back to its former glory.

Of course, his attempts at helping would be much better served if the Katsukis would accept them. As it stands, Toshiya and Hiroko have rebuffed his attempts at helping them with their monetary troubles twice now, and if Viktor had been a different man, he would simply give up and go back to his estate, but Viktor has always been stubborn to a fault and he intends to see this through to the very end.

“Mrs. Katsuki—“

“My lord,” Hiroko interrupts him with a kind smile as she sets down a bowl of steaming rice topped with juicy pork cutlets covered in a savory sauce and egg— _ katsudon _ , he remembers—in front of him. Viktor would protest and say that she didn’t have to go through all the trouble, but it would be tinged with a lie because he’s missed her cooking and he’s never had anything better than her  _ katsudon _ . “It is truly kind of you, but I’m afraid that we cannot accept your generosity. You have already given much to us, and to take more is unthinkable,” she says, punctuating her words with a pat on his head that makes Viktor feel younger than his thirty-eight years.

Before he can say anything more, a passing servant calls for Hiroko and Viktor can only watch as she bustles away, leaving him stewing in his own helplessness. There isn’t much for him to do until Toshiya comes back and Viktor can once again try and convince the man to accept his help, so he tucks in, the katsudon filling not only his stomach but also his heart with its warmth.

When his spoon clacks against the bottom of the bowl, a tankard of ale appears by his elbow seemingly out of the aether, and he looks up to see Mari sitting down across from him, a basket full of silverware in her hands. “You’re never going to convince them to take your money, even if it’s for the good of the inn,” she says, a rueful smile on her lips as she sets about polishing a knife. “My parents worry not for their own sakes, but for my younger brother’s.”

“Your younger brother,” Viktor echoes, setting his bowl aside and reaching out for a clean rag so that he can help Mari. “Yuuri, was it?” He distantly remembers a soft-cheeked boy running around the inn’s cramped hallways, shyly asking Viktor if he could play with Makka,  _ please, sir. _

Nodding, Mari continues, “He’s an omega and has not the best prospects for marriage.” A look of defiance settles upon Mari’s countenance, daring him to say anything disparaging, but Viktor has never put too much stock on a person’s dynamic, nor has he ever cared about what the beau monde thought, and so he merely motions at Mari to continue. “He’s a part of a dance troupe and works at the Theater Royale in London.”

“And he has not a name or fortune,” Viktor says, painting a picture of a rather beleaguered young man. He knows enough of society’s workings to know that an omega working as a dancer is seen as the equivalent of a strumpet in a brothel; the theater just has better lighting.

With her lips twisting into a grimace, Mari says, “Mama and Papa hope to at least furnish him with a decent dowry to improve his chances of making a good match.” Pausing in her ministrations, Mari sets aside the spoon and the rag in her hands, and sighs deeply, as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. “But with the state of our finances, we cannot even provide him with a pittance.”

It’s an unpleasant situation, and Viktor would want nothing more than to extend his assistance, help give Yuuri a better future, but seeing as the Katsukis have turned him down twice now, he knows not how he can possibly help Yuuri unless—

Unless Viktor finally succumbs to Yakov’s urging for him to find a husband.

“Miss Katsuki, how old is your brother?”

Mari startles at his question, confusion flitting past her face, before realization dawns, and for a moment Viktor is treated to her hawk-eyed appraisal and he cannot even muster the indignation as she assesses him from head to toe. After a few seconds, Mari nods, seeming to arrive at a conclusion, and says, “He’s twenty-three.”

 

.

 

“Well?” Guang-hong asks, peering up at Yuuri with bright eyes from where he’s lounging on the floor. “What’s it say? Is your family well?”

Abandoning his book, Phichit quickly makes his way towards them and perches on the arm of Yuuri’s chair. “Yuuri, is everything all right?”

“I—“ Yuuri manages to say after a long stretch of silence, and he looks up to see the entire troupe looking on at him in concern. “Someone’s offered for me. A Lord Nikiforov,” he adds, his words earning him a smattering of cheers and applause. Yuuri’s getting on in years, after all, and soon enough, no one would want to watch an old omega dance when there were younger, much more beautiful ones available, and so he has to look for a husband now if he doesn’t want to end up in the streets.

He’s not just expecting to have an offer so soon, and what an offer it is too!

“Are you going to accept?” Isabella calls out from where she’s sat in front of the fireplace.

“He makes fifty thousand a year, I think I’d be foolish not to.”

The room falls silent, and Yuuri watches as Phichit parses out what he’d just said. “Fifteen?” Phichit confirms, wide-eyed.

“No.” Yuuri shakes his head, glancing down at the letters in his lap; one was from his Mama, while the other was from Lord Nikiforov. “Fifty.”

Guang-hong’s mouth falls open.

“ _ Fifty thousand?! _ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [reference](https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2008/02/10/the-economics-of-pride-and-prejudice-or-why-a-single-man-with-a-fortune-of-4000-per-year-is-a-desirable-husband/)


	15. remix 2: wedding night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has a mouth made for kissing, delicately curved with a plush bottom lip that’s begging to be bitten, and it is baffling that Viktor will be the first to taste its sweetness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drabble 2 of 4 written for possibleplatypus!!
> 
> i'm not sure if i can bang out the next chapter to suddenly a smile, shyly obscene, so have some older!Viktor fic instead! HAHA why the shit do I have so many Regency AUs
> 
> mistakes may abound. please find it in your heart to forgive me.

They are wed in the spring.

After a month of formal courtship, three of which coincided with the reading of the Banns, Mr. Yuuri Katsuki is wed to Lord Viktor Nikiforov at St. James’s Church along Piccadilly on a fine Saturday morning. Yuuri can barely recall reciting his vows to love, honor, and obey his lord husband in front of the parson and their witnesses, can barely remember the lavish wedding breakfast that follows, but what he does remember is the warmth of Viktor’s hands as they exchange rings—simple gold bands inlaid with diamonds, the insides engraved with their initials and today’s date—and the sincerity in his tone as he calls Yuuri, “ _ Mr. Nikiforov _ ,” for the very first time.

Hours have passed since then, and Yuuri now sits on what is to be their wedding bed, clad in nothing but a thin chemise that hides absolutely nothing and a delicate lace choker, underneath which his mating gland waits for a bite. He’s distantly aware that he ought to prostrate himself on their bed in a manner that would symbolize his submission to his lord husband, and if Yuuri had been some genteel and well-bred omega, he would know exactly what to do, but Yuuri is a dancer hailing from a family of merchants, and so he can only sit on the edge of the bed and play with the hem of his chemise, hoping that Viktor will not view his lack of knowledge as a slight. Although, Yuuri does remember Minako warning against doing such a thing, telling him that a real man will not require Yuuri to submit to him, for a true marriage is one between equals.

Still, Yuuri is considering following Guang-hong’s scandalous advice of dampening his already thin chemise when the door to the bedroom opens and Viktor strides inside, bringing with him his scent of cool winter air and warm spice. The scent makes the slippery wetness between Yuuri’s thighs grow wetter, and he feels a torrid blush erupt on his cheeks when he sees Viktor’s nostrils flare in response to his thickening scent. He has heard enough tales from his fellow dancers to know what to anticipate, and the heated way that Viktor looked upon him during the carriage ride to the townhouse tells Yuuri of a voracious appetite, and a wanton part of him expects to be, as Isabella says, ravished so thoroughly that he won’t be able to close his legs come morning.

But even with desire simmering low in the pit of his stomach, Yuuri cannot help the way he shies away when Viktor sits beside him and makes to touch him. Before he can say his apologies, Viktor is saying, “My darling, if you prefer not to—“

“No!” Yuuri blurts out, shaking his head vehemently, one hand curling around the fine linen of Viktor’s shirt. “No,” he repeats, getting up on his knees on the bed and shivering at the way Viktor draws him closer with a hand on the small of his back until he is in Viktor’s lap. “I wish for you to have me, but I—can you kiss me first?” Yuuri has never been touched, much less kissed anyone, and he wants to know how it feels before they do anything else. “I’ve never—I have never kissed anyone before.”

“Never?” Viktor asks wonderingly as he sits Yuuri astride on his lap, and even through the barrier of his breeches, he can feel the molten heat of Yuuri’s cunt. The chemise that hangs off of Yuuri’s shoulders may as well have been made of gauze with how thin it is, treating Viktor to an unimpeded view of the pink nubs of his nipples, down to his flushed cocklet and the sultry pink that peeks out of the slick fat folds of his sex.

With another shake of his head, Yuuri leans ever closer, eyes growing heavy lidded as he repeats, “Never.”

Yuuri has a mouth made for kissing, delicately curved with a plush bottom lip that’s begging to be bitten, and it is baffling that Viktor will be the first to taste its sweetness, and he treats the first press of their lips together as the honor and the pleasure that it is, for beneath the bafflement he feels, Viktor is terribly, shamefully pleased about being the first and the only man who will ever taste Yuuri and take his beautiful young husband to bed. He tries to keep the kiss chaste, but it’s almost impossible to do so, especially when Yuuri melts so sweetly against him, lips parting in sweet little gasps. Viktor cannot imagine what noises he’ll make when he has him stretched out on his cock.

“Would you like another?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri has barely uttered a  _ yes _ before Viktor bestows him with half a dozen more kisses, until Yuuri’s lips are red and plump like the flesh of a ripened fruit, and he’s grinding down on the hard bulge of Viktor’s cock, the equally plump and red lips of his cunt spread around its thickness.

His breeches are soaked through from Yuuri’s slick, and it’s what finally drives Viktor to untie the thin satin choker, the ribbon fluttering to the ground with a flick of his fingers. Yuuri shudders and moans at the action, the thick fan of his eyelashes kissing his flushed cheeks as he bares his neck, presenting his inflamed mating gland to Viktor’s hungry eyes.

“Not yet, lovely,” Viktor manages to gasp even as his mouth waters, hands scrabbling for purchase on the soaked hem of Yuuri’s chemise and pulling it up. “I want to see all of you.” And Viktor does, as the chemise falls in a heap and leaves Yuuri completely bare, and Viktor finally finds out just how low Yuuri’s blush reaches.

“You too,” Yuuri murmurs, reaching for his shirt, and while Viktor is aware that he is well-formed, his frequent visits down at the docks ensuring that he is as fit as a fiddle, he is hardly the young man he used to be, and he hesitates as he pulls off his shirt. His hesitance is well-earned when Yuuri traces his fingers over the scar on his left shoulder, an ugly, jagged thing that almost cost him his arm. Instead of the revulsion he’d feared and expected, Yuuri only looks upon him with concern and asks, “Does it hurt?”

With a smile that pulls at his old, aching heart, Viktor shakes his head and says, “Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe someday, aly will write the porn


	16. remix 2: heat 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your little husband is having his heat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of 4 for possibleplatypus!!
> 
> also a small note HAha given that these past few chapters for remix 2 are commished, there ARE word limits and i could only write so much, hence the chapters are all p short. 
> 
> Thank u for understanding

It is only when he has already amassed a small collection of Viktor’s clothes, formed into a haphazard nest on his bed, that Yuuri finally takes notice of the growing warmth prickling underneath his skin that has him feeling out of sorts, sweat dampening his brow despite the cool evening air. He had thought it an aftereffect of their amorous assignations, for his lord husband had shared his bed and had him twice last night and once again in the morning before he’d left for business, and Yuuri can still feel the thick curve of Viktor’s cock spreading the sensitive walls of his cunt. Yuuri would have continued to think nothing of it, but then the warmth he feels soon turns into a raging fever, accompanied by the insistent throb of his mating gland, a faint tingling in his chest, and finally a gush of fresh slick between his thighs that tells him all he needs to know.  
  
He’s in _heat_.  
  
A terrible one at that.  
  
One that threatens to rob him of all thought, reducing him to a mewling, wanton mess.  
  
Yuuri’s only ever had one unrestrained heat, and that had been his very first one when he was but fifteen. Ever since Minako had taken him under her tutelage, she had taken care to furnish him with the necessary tools that he would not have to suffer through his heats. He’s long forgotten how a heat feels without the laudanum and herbs clouding his mind and dulling his senses, and so he is suitably unprepared for the inferno now threatening to burn him up from the inside out.  
  
He’s distantly aware of voices—Svetlana’s, he thinks, and Altin’s—calling for him, and Yuuri blinks his eyes open— _and oh, when had he closed them?_ —to see Altin kneeling in front of the bed with a basin full of water in his hands, Svetlana standing beside him, holding up a damp cloth. At the touch of the cloth to his cheek, Yuuri gasps, clarity stealing through him long enough to ask, “Where’s Viktor?”  
  
“He’ll be here soon,” Svetlana, or maybe Altin, says, and Yuuri barely remembers nodding, taking the words as the comfort they are, before the heat overtakes him again, loins burning.

.

  
  
When Viktor arrives at the estate after a full day of handling business transactions and arguing with the barrister about some contract, it’s to his entire household standing scattered out in the grounds, looking for all intents and purposes, as if they were all about to leave. He bounds off of the carriage and quickly makes for Altin’s familiar form, mind whirring as he dodges countless maids and a meandering stable boy. The house isn’t on fire, nor has Viktor ordered his household to be moved anywhere, and so he has absolutely no idea what was going on.  
  
“Altin!” Viktor calls, jogging towards his young valet. “Is there a particular reason why you’re all leaving?” He asks, before adding rather urgently when he spots Makkachin and Vicchan near a chaise, but not Yuuri. “Where is Mr. Nikiforov?”  
  
“He’s—”  
  
Before Altin can continue, Svetlana, his old housekeeper, comes bustling towards them with disapproval writ clearly on her face, making Viktor feel like some misbehaving child and not a man grown. “Your little husband is having his heat,” she says, and Viktor’s barely parsed out the meaning of her words before he’s taking off in a sprint.  
  
The house has been completely cleared out in response to Yuuri’s condition, and had Viktor known that the reason Yuuri had smelled so sweet earlier when he’d made love to him just as the sun was rising, was because of his impending heat, then Viktor would have postponed every meeting he had for the entire week, heedless of any repercussions it may have. He would have bundled Yuuri off to the little cabin near the woods so that they may weather it in private, just the two of them together like it had been for his rut—just the two of them mating and breeding for days on end.  
  
But it was not to be, not when Viktor had not even known, and he can only hope that Yuuri was not too far into his heat yet when he arrives. As he rounds the last corner and opens the ornate doors leading to their private apartments, Viktor is immediately hit with a cloud of Yuuri’s scent, thick and cloying, filling his lungs and coating the back of his tongue with every breath that he takes. It’s heady and more intoxicating than any alcohol he’s ever indulged in, and Viktor takes a brief moment to compose himself lest he lose all his senses to Yuuri’s fragrance, before he pushes the door to Yuuri’s room open.  
  
If the scent permeating the corridors was enough to leave him dizzy, the scent inside has his knees shaking, and along with the sight that greets him—Yuuri, completely bare, ensconced in a nest made of what appears to be his clothes, for Viktor recognizes the burgundy coat that Yuuri is desperately grinding down on—it is a small miracle how Viktor has not fallen to his knees in supplication. As it is, he manages to stumble towards the bed just as Yuuri halts in his ministrations, eyes blown wide with desire as he looks up and— _melts_.  
  
“ _Viktor_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one more remix 2 drabble in the lineup!!


	17. remix 2: an illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His lordship has taken ill."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last drabble for possibleplatypus!!
> 
> UH im sorry if y'all were expecting a continuation of the heat chapter bc that won't be happening for a while yet /rolls away but here is something?? to tide us all over while i struggle at writing anything hhhhh
> 
> mistakes will be a tHING that will happen. find it in your hearts to forgive me

"His lordship has taken ill."

If not for Altin's steadying hand on his arm, Viktor would surely have fallen off of the carriage at his young valet's words. He had been in town for the entirety of the past week, busy with certain legal and business matters that necessitated his urgent presence, but had he known that Yuuri has fallen ill, then Viktor would surely have ridden relentlessly to be at his darling husband's side. In the handful of months that they have been married, Yuuri has not experienced so much as a sniffle, not even the slightest of headaches, and thus it is most distressing that he be afflicted with an illness while Viktor is away and unable to do anything about it.

"Why did you not send for me?" He demands, striding across the courtyard and into the entrance hall, which is rife with activity: servants running around with trays of food, carrying in crates of books and bolts of fabric—gifts that Viktor had bought for Yuuri. Narrowly avoiding a collision with Petrov, who was carrying in a crate containing tea, Viktor heads for the staircase, practically running upstairs, a frantic energy thrumming underneath his skin.

He knows, of course, that if Altin had waited this long to apprise him of the situation, then it was obviously not as dire as he thinks it is. However, Viktor still feels out of sorts, worry consuming his every thought because he shall never forgive himself if anything happens to Yuuri. There are very few things that Viktor considers precious in his life and he’ll be damned if he loses even a single one.

"His lordship was adamant that you not be bothered," Altin replies dutifully, causing Viktor to let out a long-suffering sigh because he should have known that Yuuri would be like this, not realizing his importance to Viktor and his entire household. "But Svetlana has already called for a physician and Dr. Nekola is examining him now."

Viktor makes a note to thank his old housekeeper later, maybe even allow her a week’s vacation to visit her family, before he pauses in his stride and turns to Altin questioningly. "Nekola?" The name is unfamiliar; they have only ever called upon Lady Wright and Viktor knows what to feel that some stranger is off treating Yuuri.

"The Lady Wright's apprentice," Altin says, answering his unasked question as they make a turn on the stairwell. "Her ladyship is currently away at Brighton and is unable to come at our behest and Dr. Nekola comes highly recommended."

If Viktor had been here, he would have sent for Lady Wright anyway, would have ridden his horse to the ground just to have her expertise, but for now, he only nods tersely before continuing his way upstairs, desperate now to reach Yuuri's side. He heads straight for their private apartments, cursing whoever designed the estate because it takes him and Altin several turns before they arrive at the farthest end of the east wing where a gaggle of servants mill around, making no secret of the way they’re keeping an eye inside the room.

They all bow when they see him, but Viktor can only focus on the way the bedroom door is thrown wide open, muffled voices floating out into the hallway. He smells Yuuri first, his scent familiar and dear and no less exquisite, and if not for the other, foreign scent that reaches Viktor’s nose, he would think that this is but another day. He steps through the doors just in time to see a blond man, Dr. Nekola, step away from Yuuri, who was sat on their bed, Makkachin and Vicchan by his side—his most faithful guards. Yuuri appears well enough, if a bit paler than Viktor would like, and Viktor finally moves closer, alerting everyone to his presence.

Yuuri is the first to move, straightening from where he has been leaning against the headboard and smiling a smile that has Viktor falling in love with him all over again, has him feeling like the green boy he hasn’t been in a very long time. “Viktor,” he calls like a siren’s song, catching Viktor in his thrall, and Viktor as always, is helpless to his pull. “You’re home.”

“I am,” he says and settles down next to Makkachin, careful not to displace her as he takes Yuuri’s hand in his and presses a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles. They’ve only been apart for a week and yet Viktor feels woefully bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to bury his nose in the crook of Yuuri’s neck and fill his lungs with Yuuri’s scent. Once he has taken his fill and pressed another kiss to the meat of Yuuri’s palm, he turns to Dr. Nekola, his grip on Yuuri’s hand never wavering.  

"How is he?" Viktor has never been one for worrying, a fact that never fails to make Yakov grit his teeth and mutter expletives under his breath, but he worries now for Yuuri.

Dr. Nekola turns towards them with a smile. “His lordship is hale and healthy, my lord,” he says, giving Viktor a shallow bow before continuing. "There is no need for worry, but as for the reason of my visit—“ Here, Dr. Nekola pauses, gaze flitting towards Yuuri, giving Viktor the impression that they’d just had a silent conversation in the span of a few seconds. “I think I shall leave your husband to explain."

With a final bow, Dr. Nekola collects his belongings and takes his leave. Viktor distantly hears Altin bidding Dr. Nekola to follow and ordering the servants away as to give them their privacy, his entire focus centered on Yuuri and the brightness in his warm eyes.

“My darling,” Viktor begins as soon as the door closes behind Altin with an almost inaudible click, unwilling and unable to wait a second longer to find out what illness has befallen his beloved. “What is it? What did he mean?”

Instead of an answer, Yuuri curls his hand around his, bringing it closer to him, and Viktor can only watch with bated breath as Yuuri presses his hand to his stomach, and—

“I’m with child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully, i can work on remix 1 stuff next time!!
> 
> if you enjoyed this, please consider sharing it on [twitter](https://twitter.com/alykapedia/status/1028488402704859136) and/or t[tumblr](http://alykapediaaa.tumblr.com/post/176900440021/honey-to-my-mouth-pasture-to-mine-eyes)!!


	18. remix 1: si je t’aime, prends garde à toi!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes,” Chris hisses with a viciousness that reminds Viktor of their past duels and how Chris would always play ruthlessly, merciless with a blade. “Because I wanted you to realize what a complete and utter arse you have made of yourself for even thinking that Yuuri would ever deign to give himself to another when he has given you his heart long ago!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIVE!! apologies for the rather lengthy hiatus, i had to cram 3 zine pieces, a commission, and had to deal with some sad irl stuff, hence the radio silence on here. i've also recently convinced myself that i can do a fic + art book all by myself (like a damn idiot) so i've been kinda busy with that too (and have been posting WIPs over on my twitter so if you're interested in some 'summer of mutual pining' stuff,,u can check out my twitter i guess)
> 
> ANYWAY. i'm sorry for the clunkiness i DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE ANYMORE FFFFFSSSS but an update?? is an update???

Yuuri had a plan.

It had been an elaborate and rather convoluted thing, borne of several sleepless nights and more than a few bottles of port, and had it been properly executed, would have involved Viktor going down on his knees and begging for Yuuri’s forgiveness and love, and eventually asking for Yuuri’s hand in marriage right in front of the entire ton. The plan had been perfect, and it would have been perfect if Yuuri had actually managed to see it to fruition. He had even practiced with Yuuko the speech he would deliver, the words of which carefully selected, and he had been dressed for it too—attired in his most ornate gown with seed pearls in his hair and rouge on his lips.

Everything had been set in place and all Yuuri had to do was to follow the plan that he himself had created, but the moment his eyes met Viktor’s across the middling crowd at the garden party, it had taken everything in his power to not burst into ugly tears, and he’d ran out as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

And now here he was, being escorted by Takeshi out of the stables and towards the servant’s entrance, sniffling pathetically into his handkerchief like a child who had skinned his knees and fallen flat on his face. “You must think me foolish,” he mumbles as they pass through the kitchens, where as soon as they step in, Cook and an assembly of scullery maids take one look at his tearstained face and burst into movement and set about preparing what seems to be a feast from the way Cook is barking out orders. “And pathetic,” he adds once they escape the kitchen and step out into the empty corridor.

“Yes, well,” Takeshi begins rather sheepishly, opening a door leading to the entrance hall. “I had anticipated something like this would happen,” he says, and even with tears clinging at his lashes, Yuuri cannot help the offended expression that steals onto his face at the words. “You just had your heart broken!” Takeshi exclaims as if Yuuri has need of a reminder. “If Yuuko was to suddenly leave me with not a single word, I’d be devastated.”

Mustering up a tremulous smile, Yuuri can only shake his head at Takeshi’s words and say, “Yuuko’s never going to leave you.” The world would sooner end before that happens; aside from his Mama and Papa, Yuuri has never seen a pair more devoted to each other.

“I’ll send for Kenjirou.” Takeshi levels him a soft smile and gives him a nod that helps soothe the aching of his poor heart. “Go on upstairs,” he says, giving Yuuri a soft push towards the main staircase.

“Thank you, Takeshi.”

 

.

 

“You said that he was with child!”

With his cheek still smarting from its unfortunate yet not unexpected meeting with Mr. Chulanont’s fist, Viktor stalks out of the garden, deftly ignoring the curious stares and loud whispers, as well as set of footsteps nipping at his heels. While he had expected to receive an attack on his person when he found himself in London once again, especially after the nature in which his exodus to Paris came to be, he did not expect it to happen under the current circumstances, much like he did not expect to see dear, darling Yuuri with his belly decidedly not swollen with child like he has been led to believe.

“No,” comes Chris’s lofty reply to his accusation, and the nonchalance in which the word was uttered has Viktor whirling around to cast incredulous eyes upon his friend, who only raises an eyebrow at him and continues out onto the street where their chaise awaits. “If you would recall, I clearly said that Mr. Chulanont was expecting his first child.” And it is _that_ news that finally prompted Viktor to throw all caution to the wind and have the Aria, which had barely even concluded its business in Paris, sail him back to London, post-haste. “Not once did I say that dear Mr. Katsuki was with child. You came to that extremely erroneous conclusion all on your own.”

“You never said otherwise!” And now Viktor has to find out rather suddenly that Yuuri remains unwed and unclaimed still after months of agonizing that his love has been torn from his grasp forever.

“Yes,” Chris hisses with a viciousness that reminds Viktor of their past duels and how Chris would always play ruthlessly, merciless with a blade. “Because I wanted you to realize what a complete and utter arse you have made of yourself for even thinking that Yuuri would ever deign to give himself to another when he has given you his heart long ago!”

Chris might as well have dealt him another blow to the face for that is exactly how the words feel like. “Then why bring me back when you could have just allowed me to suffer my folly back in Paris—”

This time, Chris does bequeath upon him a ringing slap that Viktor feels to his very bones. “I know not if you’re being deliberately daft, but I have brought you back here so that you can make amends because I think that you’ve hurt Yuuri enough for one lifetime, don’t you think?”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

 

.

 

There are tear stains on his cheeks, honey on his fingers and lips, and a half-empty box of sweetmeats on his lap when Yuuko rushes inside his room with wide eyes, buzzing with an energy Yuuri knows not how to place. After he had made his way upstairs, the most taxing thing he’s done is to unearth the box of sweetmeats Mari had hidden away and set upon it like a man starved whilst allowing the tears to fall once more, and Yuuri would feel shame at having been caught like this, but Yuuko has seen him at his very worst and Yuuri truly believes that there is nothing that can possibly shock her at this point.

“He’s here,” Yuuko says as she grabs the box from his lap, pulling him to his feet before proceeding to fuss over his dress—tugging at the hem to make sure that it falls just so.

It’s only when Yuuko has straightened up once more that he finds the wherewithal to ask, “Who?”

“Lord Nikiforov,” comes Yuuko’s answer and Yuuri cannot help the way the very breath leaves his lungs, even though he knows deep in his heart that there can only be one person who would follow him after his shameful display at the garden party earlier--the only person in the world entire that Yuuri both wants and does not want to see. “Your sister has let him in and now he’s headed up here,” Yuuko says, breaking Yuuri away from his thoughts and plunging him into a panic.

Before today’s mishap, Yuuri might have put on a veneer of false bravado and invited such an encounter, but now he knows that for all his acidic words and righteous indignation, the ache of heartbreak lingers still and he has not the courage to face Viktor. “What? No!” He blurts out, eyes darting around the room and feeling very much like a caged animal. “Send him away, I shan’t see him,” Yuuri manages to add just as footsteps stop in front of his door and a scent he thought he shall never breathe in again assaults his senses.

It’s not long before a knock sounds and breaks the sudden hush that had befallen them, and Yuuri almost considers throwing himself out of the window when the door is pushed open, admitting a wind-swept and travel-worn Viktor.

And it’s as if time stops, the rest of the world falling away as their eyes meet once more.

“Yuuri.”

He’s only distantly aware of Yuuko saying her goodbyes and leaving, his entire being focused on Viktor and Viktor alone, who is still as devastatingly handsome as Yuuri remembers, smelling of safety and home—everything that Yuuri yearns for.

“I—” He starts to say, only to pause, eyes widening when he takes in the entirety of Viktor’s countenance. “What’s happened to your face?” An ugly bruise blooms on Viktor’s left jaw, while a small gash runs along the sharp edge of his right cheek, and it’s all Yuuri can do to stay rooted where he stands when all he wants to do is rush to Viktor’s side and soothe the hurt on Viktor’s face with soft hands and lips.

“Mr. Chulanont,” Viktor says, a rueful smile playing on his lips as he gestures at his battered face. “And Chris.”

“Why did they hit you?”

A beat of silence follows his question, Viktor letting out a mirthless laugh before slowly sauntering towards Yuuri. “Because I have been an absolute arse,” he says into the air between them, and Yuuri would laugh if he wasn’t afraid of bursting into tears the minute he does. “And because I’ve hurt you.”

“Have you come to hurt me again?” Yuuri asks in a whisper, and as soon as the words leave his lips, the tears that have been threatening at the edge of his vision start to fall.

Calloused hands cradle at his cheeks and Yuuri finally melts into Viktor’s hold, sobbing into the thick wool of Viktor’s coat. “My darling,” Viktor murmurs, running a gentle hand over his back. “You must understand that it was never my intention to cause you any pain. I had merely—”

“Presumed to know better than my heart?” With a newfound defiance, Yuuri peers up at Viktor through his lashes, trying and failing to comport his expression into a glare.

“I am sixteen years your senior—”

If Phichit and Chris have not already struck Viktor in the face, then Yuuri would have, and he settles for swatting at his chest as he lets out out a tirade that has been burning on his tongue ever since Viktor’s departure all those months ago. “I don’t care! I never have! If I cared one whit, then it would have been much easier to forget you!” And Yuuri has tried very hard to do so, going so far as to entertain a few suitors even as every fiber of his being protested. “But there is only one person I will ever love, and it will always and forever be you.”

“I do not deserve you at all,” Viktor says in a rush, and it’s the last foolish thing he manages to say before Yuuri is leaning in and pressing their lips together. And for a while, there is no more talk, only the slick slide of lips, the warmth of Viktor’s mouth and the taste of him, sweet and cloying on Yuuri’s tongue, until Viktor pulls away with a gasp and another foolish question: “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Letting out a huff of incredulous laughter, Yuuri shakes his head before saying, “If you stay with me forever, perhaps I’ll consider it.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow yuuri that sounds like a marriage proposal
> 
> /throws self into dumpster and lights it on fire


	19. remix 1: if you like it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor likes it. So he's putting a ring on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bare bones of this has been languishing in my drafts for the longest time and i figured i better finish this so i can continue on to more exciting porny things
> 
> I JUST WANTED A PROPOSAL OKAY THAT'S IT NOTHING DEEP
> 
> kinda clunky?? whatever im down w the flu bc once again my trash body is trying to eject me from this plane of existence. find it in your hearts to forgive any dumb mistakes etc etc

The ring is a simple affair, nothing like the garish, ostentatious, and incredibly tasteless things Yuuri has seen adorning the fingers of some of his omega peers who have escaped from Marriage Mart. Once, Yuuri had seen a ring that boasted a ruby the size of a small cherry—a large, unwieldy thing that could have been easily mistaken for a weapon than a piece of jewelry—and another with a band so wide, it swallowed the finger of the omega wearing it. However, although Yuuri has seen a great number of ugly rings, he has also borne witness to beautiful and elegant ones, but they all seem to pale in comparison to the ring in Viktor’s hands.

Sitting on the palm of Viktor’s hand is a thin gold band, inlaid with tiny diamonds, at the center of which sits a sapphire the same shade of blue as Viktor’s eyes.

It’s simple and beautiful, and a single glance has Yuuri’s ring finger feeling naked and bereft without it.

Yuuri had known, of course, that Viktor had come here, had followed him home to make amends, and while he had been the one to demand that Viktor stay with him forever, he had not expected to be presented with a ring so quickly. He had imagined it happening countless times before, but the reality simply cannot compare, and Yuuri can only stare at how Viktor had gone down on one knee with wide eyes, heart thrumming a wild drumbeat inside his chest.

“I had thought to give you one of the family heirlooms,” Viktor starts, drawing Yuuri away from the maelstrom that his thoughts and emotions have become, leading him safely back to shore. “But I know that you prefer to have your hands unencumbered when you fence,” he continues, his words matter-of-fact, as if it was only to be expected that Viktor consider Yuuri’s fencing when choosing a ring, and once again Yuuri is struck with the unwavering conviction that there will only be one person that he will be prevailed upon to marry.

Anyone else simply would not do, for anyone else would treat him nothing more than a pretty broodmare, would think Yuuri a docile, submissive omega when it could not be farther from the truth. No, it can only be Viktor, Viktor who was now tripping over his words like he was a green boy and not a man grown in the face of Yuuri’s continued silence.

“And I rather liked the thought of having something made just for you—just for us,” he says with a fetching flush spreading high on his cheeks, and Yuuri feels himself fall further, deeper in love at the admission. “However, should you want—”

“Viktor,” Yuuri interrupts before Viktor can say anything more, stepping close as he eyes the ring in anticipation.

“I was a fool.” It’s a strange way to start a proposal, but Yuuri minds not, hanging on to every word. “I am a fool even now. All these years, I have tried to keep my distance from you, tried to smother the fires of my affections, because I thought—still think, if I were to be honest—that you deserve so much better than a decrepit, old alpha like myself.” Before Yuuri can express his affront at the notion because Viktor is _hardly_ a decrepit, old alpha, Viktor is reaching for his hand, the warm touch derailing Yuuri’s thoughts most effectively.  “And thus I can only spend the rest of my life striving to be worthy of your smiles, for I fear that I shall never be worthy of your love.”

Yuuri cannot help the scoff that he lets out, swallowing down the diatribe he can feel clawing its way out of his throat because after his speech earlier, he’d have thought that Viktor would know better than to decide that he is unworthy of Yuuri’s love. The only one who can do so is Yuuri himself and he has long ago decided that Viktor is more than worthy of his love. “Ask me, then,” he says, demands, even as his hand shakes in Viktor’s gentle hold. “What you ought to have asked me ages ago.”

“My darling, my Yuuri,” Viktor says, and oh, his name has never sounded sweeter than at this very moment. “Will you allow me the honor of becoming my husband?”

“ _Yes_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i mentioned that viktor is kinda conscious of his age bc he is. he really really is. we're gonna work on that
> 
> will have a brief interlude + regency customs by next chapter bc i did a lot of research on regency era courtships and weddings that i want to use but mostly i want mari to threaten the shit out of viktor while she holds a machete casually


End file.
